


EVENTYR

by themissinglenk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Dystopian, Fairy Tales, Four Horsemen, Multi, Post-Apocalyptic, Sex, sex in churches, zombie fail
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themissinglenk/pseuds/themissinglenk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eventyr. “Adventures.” It was always hard for him to tell the difference between fallacy and what used to be known as hope. “I love you.” “I hate you.” “I need you.” Was surviving waking up every day, or seeing your reflection in your best friend’s eyes? / ZOMBIE AU, horror/romance, multiple pairings, compulsory reference to fairy tales and religion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. HÄNSEL AND GRETEL (EREN)

**Author's Note:**

> not my fault. not my fault. not my fault. ...okay, this is totally my fault.
> 
> M for content; adult language, multiple pairings, rotating POVs, gritty themes, macabre universe, tears, the inevitable hitting of bases 1 through home plate, utter zombie fail, gross cliché AU comparisons, exploitation of one of my favorite concrete playgrounds, compulsory reference to fairy tales and religious themes, my terrible music choices and abuse of anachronism. batteries included.

_What did you dream about last night?_ Armin asked.

Eren shrugged. _I didn't_.

_That's not true. Your brain always dreams. It's part of the REM state._

_Well, then—I just didn't remember any of it this time._

He'd been having nightmares.

Armin was worried for him. Eren knew that. He hated it. He wished Armin wouldn't waste his smarts on him because his smarts were valuable and what if one day he just ran out of them? Like the brain runs out of dopamine when you get hooked on phonics?

The leftover lights of skyscrapers and streetlamps danced across the surface of the water as Armin huddled closer to Eren, curled up on the merry-go-round of Playground Puget Sound. It was a nice little sanctuary, tucked away in one of the rusty chariots with a blanket and an mp3 player, surfing the radio waves for anything at all.

_Do you think Mikasa is okay?_

_Mikasa's fine, Armin. We'll go back in a little bit._

The radio had nothing to offer, except for that one AM station that was like a secret gem hiding in all the fuzz and white noise. _Leave it here!_ Armin cried. _I love this song..._

Eren snorted in judgment. Armin pinched him in recompense. He moved closer, making it easier to share the ear-buds. It was August. August always felt like the death of summer. Cooler nights, the slap of the water on the pilings, the creak of the maritime breeze through the abandoned fairgrounds. The chain-link sagged. Seabirds picked through the garbage. The seats on the skeletal remains of the Ferris wheel whined in the dark, rocking to and fro. And the moonlight sparked off the eyes of the stomping merry-go-round horses.

 

_Well, this place is old, it feels just like a beat-up truck, I turn the engine but the engine doesn't turn..._

Armin smelled like a sunny afternoon and sweet messy blond hair. His touch was fever-hot, tempting. Begging to have a knuckle brushed across the apple of a fine cheek, or a few strands of loose hair blown out of the eyes with a teasing huff of breath. There was something disenchanted and weary about him, like he knew some secret joke about the world and was waiting for everyone else to hear the punch line. If August was the death of summer, Armin was the patron saint at the funeral of childhood innocence, and his eyes flashed unafraid in the dark as he tipped his chin forward to meet Eren's kiss.

 

_I'm so alone, and I feel just like somebody else. Man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same..._

Twitch of the knees, tangled together. Tiny sigh. Graze of teeth hidden behind soft lips. They kissed in the dark, heads nodding together. Armin's fingers curled right at the nape of Eren's neck and shoulder, and it was comforting like a tousle of the hair. His heart jumped to his throat. God, _touch_. Feel. Breathe. Smell. Kiss. Taste. Whimper. Sweet nothings. Sound. Flutter of lashes. A peek at the way the otherworldly lights of nighttime made the shadows dance across a friend's face, what a sight. All the senses. A shiver down the spine. _Electric_. Wasn't it great to feel alive and torture yourself this way, human connection that would only make you feel more alone when it was gone and you were laying there at night with your arms around yourself summoning it all from memory to prove it wasn't all a fantasy.

Mikasa had come with him here before, too. They'd kissed here, too. Held each other in the dark. And it wasn't so bad, anyway—loving two people. Needing two people. When the lonely three was all you'd ever known, it was a deeper sort of bond. You did what you had to, to feel alive.

 _Did you know the sky is a graveyard of stars?_ Armin whispered against Eren's shoulder.

 _You've told me this before_ , Eren mumbled back, turning the volume down on the secret scratchy station.

 _The reason we see stars is because they've already died_. Armin shrugged, stretching like a cat in the midst of a nap. _Isn't that depressing?_

 _You're depressing_ , Eren countered.

_We should go back. Mikasa will be worried._

They climbed through the holes in the chain-link, footsteps gritting on broken-up concrete and gravel. Trees swarmed the streets, hanging low and full of shadows. Somewhere, two cats were fighting. It sounded awful.

_Do you think she'll have dinner ready?_

_She's not a housewife, Eren._

_What do you wanna eat?_

_Oh, man... Brownies. Cookies. Cake. Cream-filled éclairs._

_Armin, you won't have any teeth left._

_Hey, you're not gonna play that 'MTV Unplugged' tape all night again, are you?_

_I can't sleep unless the TV is on._

_I can read to you instead—_

The civil defense sirens started up.

Like one of those ghastly wind-up toys with the clown popping out of the box, it started in the distance with a slow grinding _clatta-crank_ of hidden gears and mechanisms. It hit a pitch ear-ringingly off as the motors stuttered to life, driving the turbines; and then it kicked into the regular emergency drone, blaring through the city one speaker to the other. The eerie waxing and waning tone would only continue to rise in volume, until the decibels seemed to bring the entire city to its quaking knees. _ErrrrrrrRRRRRRRrrrrrr... ErrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrr..._

Armin spun, a new frantic light in his eyes as he vigilantly sought out Eren's glance. _It's not testing day, is it?_ he whispered on a gasp.

Cold spiders of panic skittered down the staircase of Eren's spine. His heart jumped and then fell, sickeningly. His mouth was dry; Armin's iron grip dug into his wrist.

 _No_ , Eren mouthed. _It's a Red Warning_.

They didn't need a trail of bread crumbs; they knew their way back to Pioneer Square, sprinting through all the right shortcuts from Pike to Skid Row. There was an odd tension in the air, a feel like the tide drawing back into the ocean before a decimating wave. Like animals, scurrying into their dens as the hunter lumbered through checking for moss and listening for the snap of twigs. It was the distinct and disconcerting feel of secret life, over your shoulder, in the corner of your eye, retreating. Locking down.

Eren had gotten used to swinging from fire escape to fire escape with a revolver at the small of his back.

The sirens were deafening by the time they yanked the doors shut and threw down the bolt locks, safe on the cold dusty stairs hidden under Henry's Bail Bonds. Underground was a new shade of dark, in their own private womb of brick and stone and fallen beams; but the lamp Mikasa had was comforting and familiar as she rounded a stone corner and stood in the glow staring at them over her scarlet scarf with her wide, grave eyes.

 _You guys scared the hell out of me_ , she chastised, and when her jaw got tight like that, Eren and Armin both knew they were in for a lecture or two, or maybe just an admonitory punch to the shoulder very much like mothers and older sisters used to drag you by the ear to your room.

The sirens seemed muffled and faraway from underground. And while Eren had enjoyed the crisp fresh seaside air, the smell of candles and old furniture and subterranean ruins of the very first downtown was good on the nose.

Mikasa had dinner ready.

 _Told you_ , Eren muttered.

 _Shut up and eat_ , Armin mumbled.

They sat together under the brick arches by the old haunted city vault, on velvet cushions they'd taken from the couch. Instant coffee, Ritz crackers and salami and cheese. Mikasa peeled an apple to split between the three of them. For afterwards, there was a box of Oreos that weren't too stale yet. They were directly under the public sidewalks of Pioneer Square, purple glass skylights overhead filtering in moonlight and the miserable sickly spill of streetlamps. Once, they'd conducted tours of this place, Emerald City's infamous Underground. Armin's parents had actually operated the tours at a time. So maybe it was like Armin's inherited kingdom, which they'd made into a paradise fit for any family of three teens keeping shelter in what felt sometimes like dressed-up catacombs.

The Red Warning siren whirred to a desolate halt.

Mikasa froze, knife poised over the apple. Armin's fingers laced neatly in his lap as he lifted his eyes to watch the skylights overhead, where you could see the world aboveground in fuzzy smudges of shapes and colors, and hear it most of the time in twisted echoes. Eren bristled, feeling like the last string of a violin, fit to snap if wound any tighter. The fear tasted like metal. Or maybe that was anemia urging him to add more salami to that lone last cracker. God, he wanted to play his music to drown out the awful sounds on the horizon, but Mikasa wouldn't let him. Nothing but silence was enough for her when the warning sirens went off and—

There they were.

_Monsters._

Rotten, deformed, blasphemous things, parading around as something humanoid, travesties of the dead whose faces they wore—blatant mockery—heart-wrenching ghouls—because they were really just drooling, twitching Not-Dead on the witless prowl for flesh and blood and bone to eat. They dragged themselves in packs along the sidewalks overhead, maybe too stupid to know three humans hid beneath them or maybe mad and salivating, having picked up on the scent of life and gnashing their broken teeth at the glass skylights because they knew it was down there but couldn't figure out how to get to it.

Definitely a Red Warning.

The Aberrants had come out to play.

* * *

**a/n:** yup. I did it. I started another chapter-licious fic and idefc, I am so excited. also, anyone who hasn't lived in a place where you've regularly heard the civil defense sirens, Silent Hill has them spot-on. they're more than unsettling.


	2. ROTKÄPPCHEN (LEVI)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eventyr. “Adventures.” It was always hard for him to tell the difference between fallacy and what used to be known as hope. “I love you.” “I hate you.” “I need you.” Was surviving waking up every day, or seeing your reflection in your best friend’s eyes? / AU, horror/romance, multiple pairings, compulsory reference to fairy tales and religion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time for our favorite squad to make an appearance. I know you were wondering.
> 
> M for content; adult language, multiple pairings, rotating POVs, gritty themes, macabre universe, tears, the inevitable hitting of bases 1 through home plate, utter zombie fail, gross cliché AU comparisons, exploitation of one of my favorite concrete playgrounds, compulsory reference to fairy tales and religious themes, my terrible music choices and abuse of anachronism. batteries included.

Somebody, somewhere, was still in charge of the electrical grids. Or maybe the electrical grids had always run on auto until there was a brown-out or something, and then the guy in charge had to drag himself to fix it from his squeaky office chair where he was eating Phad Thai take-out and drinking black coffee, smoking a cigarette to keep awake while he watched _I Love Lucy_ on one tiny rabbit-ear and the security stream on a stack of other fuzzy screens. Like, _God, here we go again, gotta reboot the Hollywood drive because some drunk motherfucker crashed into another transformer_. And so now that that lazy control guy was gone, the electrical grids just continued to buzz on their own. Light switches on, until the bulbs burst, like the gas still ran at the pumps in a world of free-for-all and broken windows.

Levi could hear the choirs like he was young again. The way the voices layered and blended together, a sound like gold, and sunlight winking in your eyes, vibrating against the friezes and chipped angel faces on the ceiling. The way he remembered them singing when he was very little, looking up at everyone back then, clutching his mom's hand and hiding behind her skirt from the Father (because why should he call anyone Father but his own father?), had been innocent and wholesome. Holy.

Then the first wave of Death had swept the nation, and it was like he'd just woken up one day and understood that the singing was markedly sad and desperate, and vaguely disheartening, like some daunting warning. He'd been suddenly and distinctly aware of how the crowds cowered from the cataclysm in the nave like walls of faith were enough to protect them, like he'd been suddenly and distinctly aware of things like sexuality and responsibility as a man, that pubescent switch flipped overnight inside him as it did for all boys of eleven or twelve, charging his inner hardwiring with a new current of acuity.

He liked this church.

St. Brendan, about three miles down from The Grove (not that anyone gave a shit about that place anymore, anyway, because it was more like a playground of ruined buildings and gutted restaurants, though Levi had definitely sifted through any books that littered the destroyed Barnes and Noble when they'd first gotten there). It was gothic in a land of stucco and palm trees, all dark wooden arches inside and candles lit below the faces of the saints, and there was just something about churches. Something timeless and ancient and alive amidst the pews and sacristy. The quiet breathed down your neck in the best way and sitting with his knees drawn up in the first pew, Levi tapped the front of the glass bowl to get the attention of Hanji's betta fish. What was it like to be a betta fish in the time of Pestilence, contained to a little bowl no bigger than two fists, captivated by shiny rocks and sprinkled food and nothing more?

_What are you doing?_

Erwin's voice cut through the sacred hush. Levi looked up, over the back of the pew.

 _Playing with General Sweemo_ , he replied, matter-of-factly.

 _God, did she finally name that thing?_ Erwin swept up the aisle to lean down near the betta fish, sticking a finger in the water and swirling it around and trying to catch one of the silky fins against his knuckle. _What sort of name is Sweemo?_

_General Sweemo. It's a nickname. It's short for something else._

It was eerie to think that outside, the sun was glaring down on Los Angeles. In the sanctuary it was dark and cool, windows boarded up and a mesh of iron bars installed across the stained glass. The heavy chandeliers overhead were unlit; but candles danced in the prayer corners and reflected off the gold. The low throb of light looked good on Erwin. Levi glanced away. Erwin's eyes always pried; they could see right through him, it seemed. No, not through him. Not past him, either. But right _into_ him, peeling away steely pretenses and exposing the darkest tangles of the soul—

 _I'm going next door_ , Levi sighed.

Erwin's frown followed him out, but Levi didn't grace it with a glance. He refused to look over his shoulder lest he notice (again) how good a wrinkled Henley looked on those broad, built shoulders, or the way that fine blond hair danced through a rake of the hand like every strand was unnaturally conscious of their owner's charm and sex appeal, hand on a hip and hip cocked out to show off guns only a trained fighter would be comfortable flaunting. Whether that training was ex-military or vigilante didn't change the point.

Levi pulled his scarf up over his mouth and nose like a medical mask, wary as always of the air in a city this devastated. Petra and Gunter—they didn't like the night. Levi, however, didn't trust the day. He didn't trust the blown-up fire hydrants and wrecked streets, or the boarded-up windows of homes and businesses. There were people everywhere, hiding like termites in the woodwork. People reduced to self-preservation and the pack mentality of survival. People not necessarily to be bothered with, but people not necessarily to be trusted, either. And that unsettling tomb-like quietude of a city that had, they said, at one time in the world been a mega-hub metropolis for long-gone celebrities and designers and artists, _The City of Angels_ , _The City of Dreams_ … That just didn't sit right with Levi. It was so hot and dry and barren and _bad_. More like The City of the Lost and Damned.

He crossed the short walkway of the lot, past the moss-covered fountain and stone benches, hopping the rail of the ramp and rapping the code knock on the office door before just turning the knob and going inside.

 _I left your fish with Erwin_ , he announced, dropping his scarf from his mouth as Hanji's dogs bounded over to greet him. German shepherds. Ex-police dogs. You spoke to them in German, and they'd kill a man. _I can't say General Sweemo won't be emotionally scarred afterwards, but I'm sure he'll survive twenty minutes with the idiot._

 _Good old Captain America!_ Hanji singsonged around a gnawed-down Twizzler.

There was electricity in the offices. They'd been vandalized at some point, when the religious had flocked together into compounds decades ago. _JESUS IS GAY_ in lurid blue across a bulletin board, among other lovely discouragements. _FATHER TOUCHED ME FUNNY_ and _EAT SHIT_ and, admittedly more serious, _WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW?_

Hanji had all the lights on, and a little television set up on the desk. She sat with her feet outstretched and crossed at the ankles, thick dark hair up in a characteristically bushy ponytail, leaving little trails of dirt from her combats as she wagged her feet to the beat of the opening theme for _M.A.S.H._

 _Come here!_ she called for her dogs, patting her thigh. They returned to her side, nuzzling and settling back into place beside her.

Levi swung open the dented mini-fridge and plucked a bottle of orange juice out. _Who do you think decided to devote the rest of their life to keeping television broadcast alive?_ he muttered under his breath.

_Do you think one day someone will thank him so technology won't have to start from scratch again?_

_It's just like the lights. Who the hell decided they'd be the Keeper of Luxurious Amenities?_

_Why aren't you putting out for the Cap anymore?_ Hanji looked up, innocently. Goddamn her big brown Love Me eyes. Then her expression fell; she must have noticed the way Levi's face had soured. _Oh, sorry!_ She laughed. She knew what she was doing. She was a fucking nut. _Sorry, are we not playing 10 Questions To Break? I thought we were playing 10 Questions to Break._

Really, the fucking games you came up with when you were on the road and needed something to fill the ringing silence. 10 Questions to Break, answering questions with questions that in the way of Freudian slips and free association was supposed to make one of the players break and accidentally say or ask something deeply personal and revealing. It was a stupid game, really. More like psychological blackmail. Wasn't it funny the way a simple question could make his heart jump and his skin go clammy like the sirens did? Not funny. Fucked up.

 _Why aren't you..._ It was none of Hanji's business, anyway. Whether he put out or not. But he couldn't say that; she'd turn around and counter, _It's my business because you get stingy and unforgiving if you don't get laid, and he gets all mopey if he doesn't get laid, and the two of you sort of run this team so...?_

Well, it made sense.

After all, they'd sneered at Levi like some courtesan or pampered lover when he'd first joined Erwin's squad. And Levi didn't blame them. He would have gotten the same idea if somebody new signed on and emerged every morning from the Captain's room, all bedhead and wrinkled shirt and loose holsters and scowling at the rest of them like he wasn't something new to doubt. Yeah, he'd be remiss to think that tension wasn't apposite at first; him, hating everyone for knowing he stuck his hands down the Captain's pants at night and everyone hating him for sticking his hands down the Captain's pants at night.

But then had been Nashville, and that awful Opryland bloodbath, and the way they'd all looked at him when he'd proven himself, taking five Aberrants to one like eezy-peezy, lemon-squeezy—Hanji, Petra, Gunter, Erd, Mike, Auruo. Full of awe. Full of defeat. Full of terror. Full of pride. Bright with the glow of inevitable brotherhood.

Ah, but nothing—nothing ever in the rest of his life, however long it lasted—could possibly compare to the way Erwin had looked at him as he'd clawed him up off the flags in Moscow, bloody and hissing out of a gutter as the flames had danced under the icy gray sky, some little ritual tribute as the cursed carnage had burned. Die, die, die, really be dead this time, and purified, and forgotten—and Erwin had pulled him physically and figuratively from perdition and Levi had felt the give in his heart like it had literally rolled over in his chest, the Everything inside offering itself up for sacrifice as Erwin's fingers had dug into his shoulders hard enough to bruise—please, take me, love me, need me, use me, save me, teach me, there's no one else—

That was two years ago, and Erwin had caught him stealing first. Almost shot him but let him go. Would it have been better to die then, that way? At the hands of a man, and not the jaws of a monster? Thankfully, the nickname _Little Red Riding Hood_ had worn off after a few months.

Levi left Hanji in the front office and moved down the hall. Plaques lined the walls, amidst the water stains and broken light fixtures. Counseling Offices, here. Treasurer, there. Library, two doors down. And it was in the Rec area that he found Petra, with her dance shoes on. She was a vision of innocence; always was. The way her hair danced about her ears, and her lashes dusted her cheeks, and how could she make a plain T-shirt and cover-alls rolled up off the slender white ankles look so graceful?

He watched her until she noticed, falling down off her toes blushing and laughing and saying, _I didn't hear you come in, Levi._

 _I didn't mean to throw you off_ , Levi mumbled around a swallow of orange juice. _What are you dancing to?_

 _The Valse de Fleurs_ , Petra whispered, tapping her temple. The music was in her head, after all. And God, when she started humming to herself... And when those soft fingers stroked through his hair at the same time...

There was a commotion in the front office. Voices echoed; Gunter's, and Auruo's. They were worked up.

Petra followed Levi back down the hall, pulling her hair loose from her dancing ponytail. Hanji was on the edge of her seat. And Erwin was following Mike and Erd in. His eyes lit on Levi first. They stayed there, flashing secret words.

 _A bird_ , he said, gesturing to Gunter. Gunter held a small paper in his thick fingers. _Pixis sent another bird._

Ah, the messenger birds, like the doves of the Flood days and medieval ages.

 _What's it say?_ Levi demanded, throwing his orange juice down by the ending credits of _M.A.S.H._ and sweeping across the room, kicking Hanji's empty Twizzler bags out of the way. He held out his hand for the paper. Gunter offered it forth, but Erwin interrupted before Levi could read it himself.

 _North._ All attention was on Erwin, their leader, their Captain, and the way his eyes sparked with the news. _We're moving northward to the Pacific Northwest. They think that's where Eden is._

 _But we've only heard of Eden's location in riddles_ , Levi argued, not even caring to try and decode Pixis's chicken scratch despite having grabbed for the note immediately. _What makes him so sure Eden's there, of all places?_

 _Maybe after years of wrong guesses, it's narrowed the options down_ , Erd suggested, albeit nonplussed.

 _But you're saying it's possible we've basically skirted it for the last two years!_ Levi hissed. It was a real enough suspicion; but it was far from comforting.

Erwin straightened his shoulders. With the small movement, once again all eyes swerved to him, a testament to his gravitas. But his gaze was leveled unwaveringly on Levi, like he spoke to him and him alone. And maybe he did, with that stanch and cool tone of voice and the grim look below his brows. No-nonsense. Unyielding. Impatient.

 _I'm saying we're moving northwestward_ , he declared, shutting the conversation down swiftly. _And we leave at dawn tomorrow._

This dogged unquestioning faith in Pixis was starting to eat at Levi's steeliest of nerves. Pixis's birds came and went, but had Erwin ever met Pixis in person? Levi hadn't. And he struggled to believe in some fearless and all-knowing long-distant commander he couldn't prove existed. Who said they had to follow Pixis's lead—besides Erwin, anyway, who was practically a weapon-clad disciple of the guy? Who said Pixis's plans were right? Who said Pixis wasn't misleading them? Who said the messages weren't tampered with along the way—?

But— _Eden_ —the legendary walled city—where there were no Aberrants—no mutants—no Undead—and society was rebuilding itself, slowly—and if Levi could believe in the anonymous unseen agents who kept the electrical grids buzzing and the basic television channels broadcasting, then why couldn't he believe in a distant general guiding his soldiers to a safe haven via messenger pigeons?

The relief and excitement in his teammates' eyes was enough to quell his stubborn opinions. He didn't want to crush their dreams. Contrary to popular belief, he rather liked it when the embers of hope gleamed in their smiles again, raked out of the ashes of days gone by. It was just—it was only in his nature to doubt. It was how he'd survived thus far.

 _If they've got lights and TV and some radio, why can't we have cellular phones, too? They're much less diseased than birds_ , Levi grumbled, tossing the message into the wire waste can. Auruo fumbled for it, shooting Levi a resentful glance.

Northwestward at dawn, then.

Time to start packing.

* * *

**to continue soon…**

**a/n:** "General Sweemo" is indeed short for something else. The betta fish's full name is "General Swimming Homo." Oh, Hanji. 


End file.
